


We Fall Down, Again and Again

by Kienova



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Miscarriage, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: He tidied the bedding. Sheets torn from the mattress and shoved into a garbage bag. Her clothes, the ones she had shed on the bathroom floor, tossed in next. The white plastic strip pulled from the bedside table and shoved into the mess. He murmured to her through the bathroom door, telling her he was going to the basement, to the incinerator. She didn’t reply.





	We Fall Down, Again and Again

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Discussion of miscarriage. No graphic depictions, but enough to elude to it happening. 
> 
> Based on the following request from Tumblr:  
> hello! sad prompt incoming.. as sad as it sounds, in my mind it would be pretty hard for Jemma to get pregnant considering everything her and her body have been through. So, is there any way you could write some angst, maybe *TRIG* implied- miscarriage but all ending up ok? I think Fitz as well as the team would be so devastated but more importantly so supportive of Jemma through a hard time(s) like that. A happy ending would be nice too. LOVE your writing! xx

He woke up to the sound of Jemma crying, his heart immediately hammering in his chest as he flicked on the light, nausea swimming through his stomach at the sight of blood on the sheets. He threw himself out of bed, not bothering to knock on the bathroom door before he was pushing it open. Jemma looked up at him, tear streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” He fell to his knees in front of her, hugging her as best he could and pressing kisses into her hair. “I- I thought – I just…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered over and over, his own tears falling as he rubbed her back. When she let out a moan of agony he felt like he had been stabbed. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

“No,” she croaked, shaking her head against his shoulder. “I don’t need them to tell me what I already know. I… I don’t – don’t need them to tell me what I’ve lost.” She broke down then, clinging to him with a ferocity that shook him to the core.

“Tell me what you need,” he begged, not knowing what to do.

–

She wasn’t able to articulate anything. He stayed with her for another hour, cleaning the blood from her legs before she almost banished him, accepting the clean clothes he offered her before she shut down.

He tidied the bedding next. Sheets torn from the mattress and shoved into a garbage bag. Her clothes, the ones she had shed on the bathroom floor, tossed in next. The white plastic strip pulled from the bedside table and shoved into the mess. He murmured to her through the bathroom door, telling her he was going to the basement, to the incinerator. She didn’t reply.

–

Daisy found him in a corner of the lab a few hours later, knees pulled to his chest and face buried in his hands, shaking as he wept. She sat down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he fell into her chest. It was still early, barely even what could be called morning.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy asked after a few moments, feeling the way he was trembling.

“We… we thought… it was,” he whispered, voice breaking. “It wasn’t like the last two. It seemed okay. She… we thought it would be okay.” Daisy felt her heart pound in her chest, a sense of dread climbing up her throat.

“Fitz,” she started.

“It was nine weeks this time. Th-they say if you make it to twelve things should be okay,” he cried. “I-I can’t do th-this again. Jemma… she… she c-can’t do this again.” His words tore into her, realisation ripping through her body. Nine weeks. Last two times.

“I’m so sorry,” Daisy said, holding him even tighter. “What do you need?”

“I need this to be a dream so I can wake up.”

–

He crept back into their bunk half an hour later, finding Jemma curled on the mattress, towels laid out beneath her and tears still slipping from beneath her lashes. He wanted to lie behind her, gather her into his arms and simply hold her, but he didn’t know how she would react. The last times she hadn’t wanted him to touch her at all. Had barely spoken for two days aside from keeping up a façade in front of the team when they were working.

He gingerly laid on the opposite side of the mattress, his hand resting against hers on her pillow as she winced, tangling their fingers together.

“I… I don’t know why I can’t do this,” she hiccupped. “I-I don’t know if it’s the scoliosis or… or the trauma or… or scar tissue or… or if I just… can’t do t-the one t-thing my body was s-supposed to.”

“Jem, no,” he breathed, edging closer until he could wrap his arm around her. “This isn’t your fault,” he insisted.

“I just wanted to be able to have a baby with you.” She buried her face in his chest, gut-wrenching sobs spilling out of her the second the words left her. Clenching his eyes shut to try and stem his own tears, he held her.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

–

She didn’t leave their room for two weeks. The first few days she barely spoke, her time spent staring blankly at the wall or crying. He didn’t know what to do, his own nerves snapping until he crumpled on the floor of the training room, heaving with sobs as he gave up trying to punch the anger and sorrow out of himself. Daisy was at his side within moments, Mack helping her get him to his feet before guiding him to the benches along the side.

“Turbo, what’s going on?” Mack pressed, a strong hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t bare to say the words. Couldn’t force his lips and tongue to curl around consonants and vowels to articulate what had happened, even if he knew Mack would be the one person to understand the heartache he was experiencing. May, standing in the doorway, didn’t seem to need him to speak.

“Oh Fitz,” she said softly, coming to stroke a hand over his hair in a way that could only be described as maternal. “I’m so sorry.”

–

May left him with Mack and Daisy, knowing they would care for him, before going to find Jemma, knocking softly before letting herself into the bunk. The woman looked tiny, swallowed up by the blankets on the bed, her skin pale and eyes red. There was barely any remnant of the strong, charismatic woman May was used to seeing and instead all she saw was a broken young girl, so reminiscent of the child that had spent days at the bedside of the man she loved, knowing that he may never wake up again.

“Can I come in?” May asked, staying by the door, waiting until Jemma nodded slightly. She crossed the floor then, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing Jemma’s hair out of her face. “I’m so sorry Jemma,” she breathed. The younger woman clenched her eyes shut, unable to speak as she tried not to dissolve into tears again. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Jemma croaked.

“Do you need to see a doctor? Make sure that… that everything passed?”

“No,” she said again. “It – I – it did.”

“We are all here for you. Anything you need. We’re your family Jemma. I know this is an impossible time, that everything hurts, but we all love you.” May whispered, keeping her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“How am I supposed to get past this?” Jemma asked, voice so tiny May barely heard her. “To – to lose one… it hurt so much. But then a second… and… and now a third…. We were going to tell you all in a few weeks.” She didn’t bother fighting her tears, letting them slide out over her cheeks. “I thought it was going to be okay.” May gathered her into her arms, holding the shaking woman.

“We will help you get through this,” May insisted.

–

He crept into their bunk after dark, head aching from the amount of crying he had done again. He barely got any work done, needing to excuse himself to go fall apart in a stock room more than once throughout the day as the pain of everything shot through him again and again. Yoyo had kept close to him all day, her attitude more placid than he had ever seen it, a gentle hand on his shoulder whenever she would move around him to get something. He wasn’t surprised that everyone had found out, glad of it in a way, so that he wouldn’t have to hide his emotions. Part of him wished they didn’t know however, simply because of the sad looks they would throw his way – their smiles stilted and full of pity.

In the end, he didn’t care what they thought or felt, more worried about his wife and how withdrawn she was. She had stopped bleeding after three days, but it seemed to hit her just as hard to have everything cease as it had when it started. She had reverted to not wanting him to touch her, despite her finding an easy grace about the maternal role May seemed to have, allowing the other woman to force her into the shower and to change clothes.

“Jemma,” he said, voice cracking on her name as he laid down on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his distance from her. She didn’t answer, but he knew she was awake, her breathing telling him enough. Inhaling shakily, he steeled himself for what he needed to say, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve scheduled myself for a vasectomy. I… I can’t do this again. I can’t do this to you again.” He expected her to react, to contradict him or to spin around, shocked and angry that he was making such a decision without her. Instead, she replied with a single word.

“Okay.”

–

Coulson was the one to eventually convince her to get out of bed and back into the lab, the man taking on a paternal role in the same way May had become motherly, his voice soft and calm as he coaxed her up, insisting they needed her because no one else was as smart. She had resisted at first, but eventually agreed, following him in shuffling steps until she was back in the lab.

She didn’t speak much, but she completed the work that needed to be done.

When Coulson asked if she wanted to see a therapist that evening, she nodded.

–

Fitz didn’t ask her what she and the therapist talked about. Didn’t want to push her. He missed her. Missed the easy conversation and quick-witted bantering they would engage in on a daily basis. Missed the way she would snuggle into his side at night, her head above his heart and their fingers tangled together.

“She’ll get there,” Mack said, not lifting his eyes from the task he had before him, knowing that Fitz was watching how Jemma was delicately working at the other end of the room, Daisy not far away, pestering the other woman with pointless questions to keep her busy. “It’s… the pain gets better. Slowly. It never fully goes away but… one day, you two will be able to move forward again.”

Fitz nodded, a lump in his throat.

“I hope so.”

–

Nearly three months after, a semblance of normalcy settled. It wasn’t the same as the before, but it wasn’t as bad as the immediately after. Jemma was still cautious of physical intimacy of any type, but she accepted his gentle kisses against her forehead and allowed him to wrap her in his arms when she felt the edges of depression creeping in.

Mack had taken him for his procedure, the other man wincing at the doctor’s report when it was over. Jemma had cried when he got back, her knees pulled up to her chest, the oversized jumper she was wearing getting damp with her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered. He kissed her forehead, still sore.

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

After that, they had fallen back into a pattern of work. The team had dinner together almost every night. Jemma continued her sessions with the therapist. Fitz and Mack shared their grief. May mothered them all and Daisy did her best to make them laugh. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

–

He found Jemma sitting in the lab, eyes wide and skin pale. Her hands were shaking as she gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles white. She was wrapped in one of his jumpers, the thick fabric a stark contrast to the colour of her skin.

“Jemma, what’s wrong?” he rushed, moving to her side without a second thought.

“I… I don’t know,” she croaked, tears brimming on her lashes. “Something just… I… there’s something wrong with my stomach.”

“Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” he queried. She shook her head. “Do you need the lav?” Another shake.

“It feels like…” she clenched her eyes shut. Worried, Fitz moved his hand to her abdomen, pressing against the jumper. Jemma shoved his hand higher, closer to her ribs, eyes snapping open at the gasp that punched out of him.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he said. She didn’t have time to argue, her husband bustling her into one of the cars and driving well above the speed limit. She felt dizzy, not knowing what was happening as he spoke to the charge nurse, the woman taking them back into triage a second later.

“Ma’am is it alright if your husband stays while I take your vitals?” the nurse asked. Jemma nodded, watching the woman curl the blood pressure cuff around her arm. “Your husband says you’re having strange sensations in your stomach?”

“I… it might be parasites… or… um… muscle spasms or…” Jemma muttered, trying not to shy away from the nurse’s hands as she pressed a thermometer into her ear, still terrified of losing her hearing again, even more than a year later.

“Is there a chance you’re pregnant?”

The question made her nauseous. Her heart aching as she shook her head.

“I…” she couldn’t get the words out, looking down at her lap.

“She had a miscarriage about three months ago,” Fitz said, his voice thick as he gripped Jemma’s shoulder. She brought her hand up to hold tight to him, feeling like she couldn’t breathe if he were to let go. “There… we haven’t, since then.”

“Of course. I’m so sorry. I’m just going to have you give us a urine sample and then I’ll have the doctor come see to you as soon as he can.”

–

Jemma lay on the gurney, staring at the ceiling as Fitz held her hand.

“It… stopped. Maybe it was just a gas bubble or –”

“Jem. You wouldn’t have reacted that way for something so simple,” he replied, thumb rubbing over her wedding band. “I know… I know this isn’t great but… I need to make sure you’re okay.”

The doctor swept into the room then, her eyes scanning Jemma’s chart before she glanced up at them.

“Ms. Simmons, I’m Dr. Thompson. What seems to be the problem?”

“I – I had a strange sensation in my stomach. I’ve… I’ve never had it before Fitz, my husband, was worried. I think it might be parasites, we, uh, travel quite a bit for work,” Jemma muttered. The doctor nodded, tapping the edge of the chart.

“Well, let me have a feel and we can go from there,” Dr. Thompson said, slipping on a pair of gloves while Jemma tugged her shirt up. She pressed her hands to Jemma’s stomach a moment later, pushing and palpitating the skin, a frown on her face. “Your chart says you experiences a miscarriage a few months ago. What it a complete miscarriage?” Fitz’s grip on Jemma’s hand tightened, his eyes on the floor.

“I believe so,” Jemma responded, swallowing hard. “There… I passed a lot of blood and… and –”

“I’m sorry, I know this must be very difficult to talk about,” the doctor said, her hand on Jemma’s elbow, understanding what she was trying to say. “Have you miscarried before?”  

“There… twice before. Both… both about six weeks.” Jemma choked out.

“I’d like to do an ultrasound, if you’re alright with that.” Thompson said. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Jemma nodded, turning to face Fitz as the doctor went to retrieve the machine.

“I need you to not be in here for this,” Jemma whispered, blinking tears away. “If you’re here… it will feel too much like – and… I can’t –” she stumbled. Fitz pressed her knuckles to his lips, stroking her hair.  

“I will be right outside,” he assured her. Giving the doctor a nod as he moved into the hall, resting his head against the wall and breathing heavy, heart aching. He felt helpless.

“Alright Jemma, I’m going to get started,” Dr. Thompson murmured, placing the gel and then the transducer on Jemma’s skin. Vaguely, Jemma thought of apologising, her body no longer as fit as it had been. She hadn’t cared for exercise or a proper diet in months, but she didn’t have the energy to say she was sorry to someone she barely knew. She tried to tone out the sound of the doctor clicking away at the screen, the transducer moving over her stomach, pressing tighter to her skin now and again. “You might want to call your husband back.” The words shattered the tiny bit of calm that Jemma had maintained.

The words made her heart sink.

Oh God. She was dying.

“Fitz,” she sobbed, her voice barely loud enough for the doctor to hear but he was pushing the curtain back immediately, eyes terrified. He was next to her in a heartbeat, grabbing her hand.

“Jem, what –”

“You might want to sit,” the doctor said, the words a catalyst for his knees giving out, thumping into the chair next to the bed. She turned the screen then, pointing at it. “See that? That is a perfectly healthy twenty-two week fetus with a strong heartbeat.” Jemma blinked, eyes wide as she stared at the screen. “That feeling you experienced was probably the baby kicking.” As if to prove a point, the image on the screen shifted, Jemma gasping at the resulting point of pressure she felt near her ribs.

“She’s… we’re… oh my God,” Fitz blubbered, kissing Jemma frantically, a laugh falling out of him as he clutched her hand. “Jemma,” he breathed, tears pooling in his eyes. “How?” he added, the question thrown at the doctor.

“My best guess is that you may have been developing twins and one wasn’t viable. Your body did what it thought was necessary, causing the bleeding and miscarriage of one twin, while the other struggled for its life. But it looks healthy and the right size. Did you have any bed rest after you started bleeding?”

“She stayed in bed for almost two weeks,” Fitz explained when Jemma didn’t offer an answer, still in shock.

“You probably saved this little one’s life by doing that,” Thompson smiled. “I’m going to get an OB down here just to make sure everything is as it needs to be, and we’ll make you an appointment to keep track of how everything is going, but from what I can see, you’ve got yourselves a little miracle right there.” She clicked at the computer a few times before handing Fitz a print out and taking her leave from the room.

“Jem,” he smiled, nudging her cheek with his nose as he finally drew her attention to him.

“I’m… I’m still pregnant?” she asked, voice small. Fitz beamed at her, pressing the picture into her hand.

“Yeah, Love. You are.”

–

Daisy was in full on panic mode by the time they got back a few hours later, Jemma still in a state of stunned silence, a bottle of prenatal vitamins in her hand.

“Is everything okay?!” Daisy rushed, barely letting them get through the door. Jemma nodded, a soft smile playing across her face as she moved to the couch, sitting down without a single word. Turning her attention to Fitz, she almost broke into another set of sobs, his smile so wide that it lit up his entire face.

“Everything is fantastic,” he managed, dropping down onto the sofa and kissing Jemma, not caring that May and Coulson had just entered the room as well.

–

They didn’t tell the team that night, wanting a little time to themselves. They wanted to figure out what to do. The OB had told them that the baby was fine and developing well. When Jemma had confessed her fears of still losing the baby, the OB had carefully sat down, explaining that even if she went into pre-term labour, there were things they could do. She gave them her cell number, telling them to call if they had any concerns, scheduling Jemma for a check-up in two weeks.

The couple stayed up half the night, their hands pressed to Jemma’s stomach, feeling the occasional kick that had them both crying.

“Is it wrong to feel this happy?” Jemma asked just before dawn, her voice thick with sleep.

“No,” Fitz assured her, kissing her temple. “Jem, we mourned the baby we lost. We mourned all three of them. There will always be a part of us that grieves for them, and we will never forget them. But, we are allowed to be happy about the one we still have.” She hugged him fiercely, sloppy kisses peppered across his skin.

“I love you,” she murmured, smiling into his mouth. “I want to move to Perthshire. I want this baby to grow up somewhere beautiful.”

–

They told the team they were leaving two weeks later, after Jemma’s check-up. She had tried not to laugh, her stomach seeming to have ballooned overnight the minute that her continuing pregnancy was known to her, barely allowing her to conceal it until they had seen the doctor again.

“We’re moving to Scotland,” Jemma said, holding Fitz’s hand beneath the table when they had all gathered for dinner. The others gaped at them, only May offering a genuine smile.

“But why?” Daisy demanded. Jemma bit her lip, looking over at Fitz.

“We want the baby to grow up there,” he said, grinning.

–

The explanation had taken them more than a few minutes, each member of the team needing everything laid out for them, confusion running rampant. It was only when they produced ultrasound photos that the others seemed to understand. Daisy burst into tears, May and Coulson hugging them each in turn, Yoyo trying to conceal the fact that she was crying as she kissed Jemma on the cheek. Mack pulled Fitz into a tight embrace, nearly lifting him off the ground all while whispering how happy he was for them.

–

Three months later, they lay curled up in another hospital bed, their tiny baby daughter suckling on Jemma’s breast while Fitz looked on in adoration.

“She’s so beautiful,” Jemma mused, stroking over the infant’s cheek. He nodded, unable to speak.

Mack had been right. The pain would never fully go away, but looking at the face of his healthy, newborn daughter, it hurt a little bit less, and the three of them would move forward together. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Miscarriage and stillbirth are extremely painful and traumatic events. If you or someone you know has experienced either of these tragedies and requires help, please do not hesitate to contact and utilise any of the resources listed below. You are not alone in your suffering.
> 
> Parents or other family members who have experienced the loss of a baby between conception and the first month of life can receive a free March of Dimes bereavement kit by contacting the Fulfillment Center at 1-800-367-6630 or at bkit@marchofdimes.com
> 
> Pregnancy and Infant Loss Network (PAIL Network): [ http://www.pailnetwork.ca](http://www.pailnetwork.ca) and 416-480-5330 or 1-844-772-9388
> 
> Bereaved Families of Ontario: [www.bfotoronto.ca](http://www.bfotoronto.ca) and 416-440-0290 or 1-800-236-6364
> 
> [www.mend.org](http://www.mend.org)   
>  [www.thelifeididntchoose.com](http://www.thelifeididntchoose.com)   
>  [www.unspokengrief.com](http://www.unspokengrief.com)   
>  [www.babyloss.com](http://www.babyloss.com)


End file.
